


You Don't Wanna Know

by pro_se



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Oh god, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, oh no, this was a mistake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 06:30:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12765126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pro_se/pseuds/pro_se
Summary: It's 12;50am and i'll think of a better summary in the morning





	You Don't Wanna Know

**Author's Note:**

> _Ah, there's some aces up your sleeve_   
>  _Have you no idea that you're in deep_   
>  _I dreamt about you nearly every night this week_
> 
>  
> 
> \- Arctic Monkey’s _Do I Wanna Know_
> 
> A/N: dONT LOOK AT ME this is my first time publishing anything explicit, and it's only because I'm trying to become more comfortable writing these scenes (dear lord this was a mistake)

 

Hands rough, nails digging into your flesh, and you scarcely note the sharp ringing in the back of your head when Shay slams you back on the timber wood door. He’s insistent and desperate to capture your breath, kissing you, _ loving you _ , satisfying his craves with your curves. You shove the overcoat from his broad shoulders, hands slipping down to his cravat and shirt collar, seizing and dragging him closer, closer.

Shay rips away, white knuckled and braced against the door, with desperate pants escaping from his wet mouth and heavy tongue. He snatches his lips away; and you fail to follow, not from inspiration but knowing he’ll return.

He fumbles with your shirt and trousers, shaking from the overwhelming emotions, too enamored by your ragged breathing and wide, begging eyes. “Oh, fuck,  _ fuck, _ ” Shay groans, and he loses himself in another hungry kiss. “You’re gonna kill me, you’re gonna fucking  _ end me _ .”

The blouse eventually unbuttons, and with every scrap of skin that shows, Shay places a lingering kiss, descending to your ribs-- and your back arches with his chapped lips-- then your waists, and you see his black eyes flick upwards.

His name slips from your body like a gasp, as he delves to kissing, kissing, ignoring the way you card through his long locks and sink nails into his back. Soon, the name Shay spills quickly but softly, intermingled with your stifled pleas and encouragement.

You’d hate to distract him.

Sometimes it's his tongue, and he drags it across your skin like a teasing blade. His fingers are more emotional, gripping your waist and your thighs and your calves and they never run in solo. There are sounds that you refuse to acknowledge or describe because of the bare vulgarity, from both ends of your body.    


Shay mumbles once, while your fingers twist in his hair, begging you to loosen your grip a little, just a bit, love,  _ my love _ , and I promise I'll go slower.

But you don’t want him to go slower: the sensations crawl and spiderweb through your body instead of instant gratification. And you’re at the brink, you’re at the cliff’s edge, but it’s  _ different  _ than the times you’ve contemplated leaping to leave this world behind, this world of violence and misfortune; it’s the kind of daredevil feeling, the exhilaration and adrenaline from diving and surviving the torture of not knowing, of teetering on the edge--

Shay  _ denies  _ you, he  _ betrays  _ you like the wily bastard you’ve grown to adore and love in the past year, and he whisks you to the four-poster bed, pinning you down and stripping the rest of your undergarments away. He seizes your wrists and pins them down on the downy sheets, and Shay drinks your demands to finish what he’s started. 

“I  _ hate  _ you,” you hiss as he quickly shucks off his trousers and grabs your wrists the moment you’ve started to stray away. “You and your damned mouth and your infernal teasing--”

“Oh please,” Shay growls. “Think of something original.” He presses all of his weight against you, the two of you groaning with every bare, inflamed touch, and you feel all the soft and hard parts of the Templar’s body, though mostly hard. The last dregs of your rush, the climax that never quite happened, resurges with a vengeance; Shay finally releases you to nestle between your thighs, and caress, then hike them to his sides.

Shay doesn’t ask for permission; the way you grab his hair and yank him down for a deep, smothering kiss says it all. One of your hand skims over the scar over his eye--  _ jesus fucking christ, how the sensation makes the him shiver-- _ and you try your damn hardest to not draw blood as Shay’s flush against you; kissing, kissing, distracting from the shock of loving you, but it’s like a drug once you’ve accepted the way he cradles you, holds you, owns you--

\-- _ and it’s like a fucking narcotic _ because he takes you back to the edge of being overwhelmed, of being absolutely loved, and completely lax and trusting in his arms in a way you’d never imagined before bedding this black-eyed Templar--

You hardly have to beg for him; Shay knows how much the two of you need each other.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: much appreciation if you would want to leave a request (whether sfw or nsfw but re: beginning notes please be gentle i'm new at this shit), but at least I can be inspired for writing and contributing to the ac/reader tags


End file.
